


The Winter Soldier

by HeartlessNeoshadow



Category: RWBY
Genre: Gen, Origins, Past, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), origin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 14:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16243268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessNeoshadow/pseuds/HeartlessNeoshadow
Summary: I am Winter Schnee, and if you believe I have the most ironclad demeanor, you do not know of my past when I was anything but a strong-willed warrior. I was like any other huntsman or huntress trying to find her place in the world before I became one of the elites. I just wanted to share my personal story so those who believe they are nothing learn that even I was once like them.





	1. Prelude

**Prelude**

I may be one of Atlas's greatest huntresses.

But I know myself to be something significantly different. Rather, I remember years ago when I used to be the most flawed girl in my family who regularly yelled and screamed at my father every time he disagreed with one of my decisions.

A rebellious and entitled child, I know, but I hope, after I finish my story, that you will come to understand my whole dream was to pass all of my father's expectations in ways he could never comprehend.

So where do I begin? Ah yes, when I was just a twelve-year-old little girl aspiring to become one of the greatest warriors ever and I was sitting at a dinner table with my stubborn-ass family eating steak and mashed potatoes with the most beautiful silverware and clothes a high-class family could wear.

"Don't even start," my father would say before he sipped from his wine glass and placed it back down. "We are not going to have this discussion over and over again."

He must have seen me getting eager to speak.

"But Dad," I whined, looking over at him with contempt, "I can do it; I've begun training!"

"You're wasting your time." He cut a slice from his steak, stuffing it in his mouth.

I was just waiting for a gesture that would say he was thinking about the empty seat beside him.

Oh, how he loved to boil our blood by mentioning Mother's fate at war with her alcoholism a long time ago.

"Besides," he continued.

Here we go.

"...I promised your mother I would keep you all safe."

That was when I stood up to slam everything I held down on the table, staring into him with rage while he calmly continued eating, ignoring me

"Dad," I yelled, leaning forward as I felt my veins readying to pop, "why do you always say that? Besides, it's not like you cared about her."

"Because it is the truth, and  _watch your tongue_." He cut another slice, looking up at me deliberately.

He truly did not give a damn about what I wanted.

"You are to only consider the battlefield when you are older, and even then," he trailed off, still enjoying his meal, "I may reconsider allowing any of you to risk your lives; losing even one of you would taint our name, as it has already done so in Mother's case."

We had argued so many times about how much our last name mattered to him and how much it did not to me that as soon as it came to my mind, I stood still and mentally tossed it aside, knowing if we started yelling about it, our opinions would remain unchanged the whole way through.

"Our name," I muttered, recomposing myself before sitting back down and grabbing my fork and knife, staring emptily at the food before me. "Our name, hmph."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

The dinner went by in my displeasure-ridden silence as he mouthed on more and more about our family history as I ignored everything other than an interesting tidbit here and there. ("Your greatest grandfather struck down five grimm with one strike; your greatest grandmother gave birth to quintuplets; and I blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah…") I occasionally looked at my younger brother, Whitley, asking via facial expressions what he thought about father's words.

He merely shrugged.

I stared forward again, absolutely fucking done with this shit.

Once the meal was over, I instantly took off to my room down the hall, entered to my right, grabbed the doorknob, and slammed the door shut behind me.

I retreated to my desk where I pulled the chair out, sat down on it, pulled it a little bit forward, planted my elbows on the solid wood, and placed my hands on my forehead, pushing away my hair so my eyes were perfectly visible.

"He doesn't know anything," I repeatedly cursed and thought to myself as the moon rose higher in the sky where I could see it through my glass-paned window.

I looked out at it, wondering if I could just wish upon a star for a better man to believe in me.

I mean, a lot of our (sur)names our based on folklore, right?

So I silently wished again and again, thinking about how my training I had started at the academy I enlisted myself in via fake documents would one day mold me into the strong woman who could lead herself one day without her father breathing down her neck.

Tears formed in my eyes as I considered the future and whether or not my teacher would approve of my overall objective; he does value following your parents' lead, after all, and if he does not like what I have to say, then I would have to find an adult huntsman or huntress who does.

What sane adult completely listens to a child's wishes, anyway?

With that thought and staring at the night sky, I looked over at my bed and its comfy sheets and decided these thoughts were best left for tomorrow, and that a racing mind needs to slow down for several hours so it can rev back up later at full speed.

I stood up from my chair and walked around it to fling myself face-first onto my bed, instantly drained from everything in the day before I fell unconscious in seconds, probably snoozing the entire time.


	2. Sessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here I showcase some of my training while letting readers know of a major block thrown in my road.
> 
> Needless to say, it angered me while pleasing others, and it made me think, at the time, about who I was on a much deeper level than I ever had before.

**Sessions**

It was a dojo-designed room I stood in, hair bunned and fists balled up in front of my face as I donned my white karate clothes and slowly strafed around the room, facing my teacher: a tall muscular white short black-haired man who wore the same, imitating my stance and movements.

I had long since snuck out of home for the day with ease since my father always went straight to his office once he woke up and stayed there till lunch or dinner.

And thoughts of him were what propelled my forward step as I imagined him in my teacher's place, kneeling and getting ready for combat as I came running full speed ahead.

I threw the first punch.

Blocked.

Then the second.

Then the third.

Blocked and blocked.

Then an entire volley of two throws per second for five seconds straight, ramping up the speed until it was three and four at seeming once.

But it did not matter as he raised his palms in time for each one, catching them all.

Seeing I would never get a hit in, I leapt back and strafed to my right before launching forward again, this time sliding towards him with one foot out to sweep him off his feet.

The foot I was aiming for stepped back, then lifted itself instantly before coming down full force on my ankle.

This man's strength combined with my inexperience depleted all of my aura as I winced in pain now that I could feel a slight crunching noise.

I pulled my foot out from under him and stood up, looking him in his dark eye to see the apparition of my father had faded.

I mean, from what I had seen, he did fight like him after all.

He lowered his fists.

"Better," he said, dusting himself off as I did the same. "But still lacking proper concentration; your anger dictates your every move, making you predictable."

"But how am I supposed to overcome it?"

"Overcome it?" He looked at me sternly and stretched his fingers. "You don't; you channel it so that you control it, weaponize it."

_Control it, huh?_  Is what I asked myself. My emotions had manipulated me for all these years, and I was being told to control them?

How?

"I want you to start attending therapy while we are training," my teacher told me as I walked away and I looked at him astonished.

"Therapy?" I cried, leaning forward in almost the same rage fit I had shown my father the previous day. "Do you know how much that costs and that I would have to  _talk_  to my dad about it before he agrees to let me do it?"

"Does he know about your anger issues?"

"I make sure he does!"

"Then getting him to agree should not be an issue. Besides…"

He turned to look towards me before walking forward and stopping just a foot in front of me.

"...if there's ever anything you can't talk to your old man about because you are scared, then you have failed as a student."

I huffed as I looked up at him before he slowly walked backwards and turned away again.

"Scared?" I cursed.

"Yes, and with those sessions I am sure I will see improvement in your combat as well. I want you to talk to your old man about these first, and if he doesn't agree, I'll talk to someone else; he can just best afford it is the idea."

"Sure," I mumbled, looking eerily at my teacher.

"Anyway, until you take those sessions, I believe you have reached your combat limit: you are fast and strong, enough to take down most, if not all, at your age, but take me down or someone similar if you want me impressed."

He walked out the sliding door, closed it, leaving me alone in my thoughts once more as I placed my hands behind my head to help take in a deep breath.

"Therapy." It was the sort of thing only utter  _losers_ attended, people whose minds and souls were beyond broken, right? "That's not me."

Then I looked up at the ceiling and let the light penetrate my eyes while slightly wincing.

"Then again," it dawned on me, "maybe it is. Maybe that's why no one in the family gets along with me. Ugh."

Talking to myself was a form of therapy, in fact, but even I could feel in my heart it was nowhere near good enough.

Still, though, I was being asked to attend something only the mentally insane attend.

What was my teacher trying to say about me? And by extension, since I don't get along with my father, about him?

I closed my eyes and chuckled at the thought of his ass getting calmly and verbally served, but then I remembered that could be me, too.

I drop my arms to my side, looking around for my backpack and change of clothes (black form-fitting shirt and blue denims) so if father saw me coming home, he would not suspect much.

I spot them and trudge over towards them, staring at them the entire time as I undid my hair bun so it draped completely down before I grab them and walk out, making my way towards the nearest restroom.

It was another day of training that ended sourly, if you asked me.

* * *

I walked out of the school in my new clothes into the empty entrance area; I had stayed for private lessons that did not take much convincing due to my last name. This was the only time of day I came here since I did not care to make friends.

The front steps only took seconds to descend as I saw a black limousine parked in student pick-up I made my way towards.

Klein was the driver in his typical get up. Some may think his frequently picking and dropping me off might clue my father into me doing something, but again, that man sticks to his office like hot glue to anything.

I opened the door behind Klein before climbing in and getting myself comfortable as I shut it and buckled my seatbelt.

He looked through his rear-view to check on me.

"So how's the day been?"

"Apparently, I need therapy."

He gradually nodded his head; I could tell he was in mild shock.

"And why is that, might I ask?"

"Personal reasons. My teacher wants me to talk to Dad about signing me up."

"Really?" he said in mild disbelief.

"Yeah, really. I can already hear the future conversation in my head."

"Well I'm sure your father could be somewhat receptive."

I craned my head to look at him dismissively.

He winced, then just focused on directly in front of him and pulling his stick into Drive mode before taking off into the sunset.

* * *

"Therapy sessions?" my father yelled as he slammed his desk I was sitting in front of with my legs crossed.

We were in his office after I knocked to come in. Despite his usual demeanor, he always welcomed whoever wanted to come in until the people started being severely annoying.

And I feared I was starting to become that.

"Believe me, Dad, I don't want to do it either." I rolled my eyes.

"No," he said as he shook his head, standing up before walking around his desk to sit on it and look at me as I looked back up at him. "This is actually a great idea."

I slightly lowered my head as my eyes went wide.

"A great idea?" I yelled back. "Is that what you think of me?"

"Sure, sure," he said so candidly, moving a hand towards me I pushed away before looking away. "I mean, you argue about every damn thing, so perhaps a professional could help."

"A professional won't do anything," I muttered.

"And why is that?"

I looked back at him sharply.

"Because I know how I am and that I won't change."

"Oh come now, my dear." He leaned towards me. "If that's the case, why would you even mention the idea?"

"It was Klein's thought."

I had pre-arranged with Klein that he would be the one who 'told me I needed therapy' so I could cover my tracks, and because he is such a loyal butler, he agreed.

Damn, does he deserve a treat.

"Well Klein is right. In fact, I'll get to finding a therapist for you immediately."

He went back to his seat and turned towards his computer monitor he flicked on by moving his mouse and got to typing in his password so he could start finding me a doctor.

I looked behind me and sighed, stretching before standing straight up and waltzing towards the door.

He heard me and must have looked at me with my back turned before he asked, "And just where are you going? I could use your input on these doctors."

"To my room," I said before opening the door.

"Young lady-"

He was cut off by my slamming it shut and his voice being muffled.

I ran towards my room and also slammed that door shut and threw myself on my bed again, losing myself in my own thoughts about what was going to happen next.

* * *

I was called down for dinner and never came.

My family assumes that if you don't come down, you'll just eat what was prepared later.

Which is what I did, but as day became night, that was not what was important to me right then.

With my eyes closed and my arms and legs generally making an angel shape out of boredom, I began to think what everything that would come in my life means.

Anger issues and a will to fight, is that not the perfect combination? Not if you are a sadistic sociopath. But if you can merge them together and control them, you can soon become one of the mightiest warriors history has ever known.

But I need therapy in order to pull this off.

In other words, because of all my outbursts at my dad and occasionally everyone else, I am a flawed girl, like I said earlier.

And nobody likes a flawed girl; in fact, my little brother and sister probably hate or are scared of me because of the monster I can be.

What if, because of my anger, I do turn out to be a killer?

What if once I have power, I will do whatever I can to have more of it over others?

What if my anger issues are just a sign I want to dominate them and take over this fucking city and family, and become like my father?

These subjects bring tears to my eyes as I was confused about the person I ultimately was.

There was just no way I could fulfill my dream of being one of the strongest huntresses to ever live.

It was hopeless.

I had already shown signs of being the opposite, and they were more overbearing as each day passed by.

What could I do to turn things around?

Yet as the depression continued on and the moon fully replaced the sun, I found it tiring to keep these thoughts going.

Fatigue was settling all throughout my body as I looked through the window to take in the night sky, to wish upon a star once again that I would one day be something my family would be proud of, that my siblings would look up to.

One day, Winter.

One day…

That was my final thought as I closed my eyes again and wisped myself away into the deepest etches of sleep.


End file.
